


Brain Food

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the 2012 Spook Me Ficathon and inspired by the article mentioned in the story - and by Jael Lyn and her Moonridge stories. Thank you, Jael and thank you for your patience. Also big thanks to Bluewolf for the beta!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Brain Food

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Spook Me Ficathon and inspired by the article mentioned in the story - and by Jael Lyn and her Moonridge stories. Thank you, Jael and thank you for your patience. Also big thanks to Bluewolf for the beta!

 

 

 

  


It wasn't as if he hated being alone - he most definitely did not. He was thirty-years old, for Pete's sake. And he'd certainly lived alone "BJ" (before Jim). And before Larry. Wait, did Larry count? Really? An ape that ate all his popcorn? Probably not. So okay, he'd been alone "BJ" and he'd enjoyed it. But that was then and this was now and now he had Jim and he really really really liked having Jim - as in having him _and_ as in having him around, but at the moment, he wasn't doing either. He was alone. It was after dark, he'd been forced to eat alone, to watch their favorite show alone (and it just wasn't the same when you couldn't have a socked foot fight with your partner while watching television, you know?), and, well, okay, he might hate being alone now.

It didn't help that it was Halloween. Or that he'd had that stupid Zombie dream again last night, or that he could _swear_ something was on the terrace (he called it a 'terrace' now that he lived here - as in permanently, as in his name was even on the lease) and that _something_ wasn't anything it should be. It was absolutely a shadow. Not the expected-type shadow (like from the new small tree he'd recently potted) or even the shadow of Mrs. Corby's cat who loved to slink around late at night when there was a full moon and that damn thing knew damn well it was freaking black so you never knew if you were seeing the _cat_ or its shadow unless it faced you - and that could be worse because then you'd see those golden eyes….

Okay, stop it, Sandburg. Stop. It. Now. Go have some more candy. Yeah.

He got up, padded over to the table by the door and the big, round, skeleton-like Halloween candy bowl that still held a few pieces of precious candy. He'd been hit hard by ghosts, goblins, pirates, vampires and princesses between seven and eight-thirty, but then the door-knocking had slowed to a crawl so that by nine, he'd heard his last " _trick-or-treat_ " and given out the last " _wow, you give great candy!_ " bar, which left him with the few "Jim-faves" hidden in the kitchen and…he picked through the remaining candy in the bowl…ah-ha!...one Butterfinger …and, yep, M&M's peanuts (4 bags, no less)…and his life would be made if…just one…YES! One 3 Musketeers bar! You couldn't do better than a full-size Butterfinger and a 3 Musketeers bar after a parade of kids on Halloween. Originally, he'd had NO intention of leaving Jim anything because Jim had to be the one to drive up to Tacoma to bring his dad home because William had been visiting a friend, taken a tumble and broken his leg - and why couldn't Steven have made the drive? But no-o-o, Jim had to be the good son, but he'd relented and put four Milky Way bars into the freezer. After all, a happy Jim Ellison made for a very happy and sated Blair Sandburg.

But still…leaving him alone over Halloween? Seemed William could have timed the whole thing better and Steven could have postponed his damn meeting with the high muckey-mucks.

Realizing that he was being…well, a bit ridiculous, because of course, William didn't have anything to do with the timing, but still. He was alone and Jim wouldn't be back until late tomorrow, but that wasn't today. Yes, he was smart enough to figure that one out. Today was not tomorrow. Except in…Australia, for instance.

Grumbling a bit under his breath, he walked back to the couch and kind of folded into it, knowing full well his facial expression would be reflecting a pout. Not that he pouted. He didn't. Except he was. Pouting. He unwrapped one of M&M's bag and, after taking out all the yellow ones - he had a thing about yellow now - he started tossing the others, one at a time, into the air and catching them in his mouth on their way down. After five tosses and no misses, he thought he'd move onto something more challenging. Like…walking upstairs while tossing the M&M's and catching them.

Wait.

That could end rather gruesomely, now that he thought about it.

God, he hated being thirty. If he wasn't - if he were only, say, twenty-five again, he'd have done the stairs with the M&M's. But something happens to you when you turn thirty. You think better of pulling stunts like that. On the other hand, being thirty on Halloween, on a pretty damn dark night (not that all nights weren't dark, because they were, but really, some _were_ darker than others, honestly), with weird things on the terrace didn't stop him from thinking of Zombies climbing up the walls of their building while chanting, " **Brains, brains, brains** …" or more specifically, " **Sandburg brains, Sandburg brains, Sandburg brains** …."

Humph. Just because Jim wasn't here. Just because he was a _tiny_ bit lonely, a _tiny_ bit missing Jim.

He tossed another M&M - this time a brown one - and again - caught it nicely and chomped down on it. Mmm good. Like brains, only chunky. He grinned. That should be their Halloween sales campaign.

"M&M's Peanuts - like brains only chunky!" he intoned in his best Boris Karloff imitation.

He should write the company.

Blair sat back, looked into the bag and frowned. None left, already? Disgusted, he crunched up the bag and tossed it over his left shoulder, smiling with satisfaction as he heard it thunk into the waste-paper basket. He never missed - and that was without Sentinel senses. Take that, Jim Ellison, he thought.

Damn, there was that shadow again. Maybe if he closed…which would mean actually approaching the windows…he could do it quickly…really quickly….

Blair shook himself. "Stop it, you addlebrained…scratch that, let's avoid the use of the word _brain_ in any context, but still, stop it. You're an adult, a **man** , who actually knows how to defend himself now, even if you are still kind of short. You can get up…go on, get _up_ and pull the shades. Now."

When he didn't move, he repeated, "Now," a little louder. Somehow, he wasn't overly successful at talking himself into pulling the shades. He was so pathetic. And alone. Why had the clouds chosen now to obliterate the full moon, anyway? He reached for the Butterfinger bar. Maybe there was something good on television. He picked up the remote with his left hand, aimed it at the tv and pushed the "on" button. The screen came to life - with several very ugly…yep, _zombies_ filling the screen.

"Oh, great," he muttered even as he began surfing, hoping for a comedy…maybe it wasn't too late for the Daily Show. Damn, it _was_ too late. Okay, there were other channels to check. Lots of them. Hundreds of them, GOD DAMN IT.

What the fuck was that NOISE? He turned off the tv, threw the remote down, put the half of the Butterfinger he'd yet to finish on the coffee table and got to his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he walked with determination toward the windows. He reached out and up for the first blind…caught the loop, hooked his finger and started to pull it down….

" **Ohshit**!"

He jumped back, the blind rattling back up, making that horrible flapping sound as it continued to spin. Blair blinked hard, then squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten…and opened them. Frowning, he looked again. Nothing.

Nothing.

He could have sworn… _sworn…_ he'd seen a figure. A really, you know, _big_ …figure. The kind that most definitely should not be on his terrace. At night. Or any time for that matter.

But now…nothing. At least the windows were closed. This wasn't one of those scary movies where the stupid hero finds an open window and goes to close it - only to realize it's too late -- far too late. Nope, windows closed and locked. He turned his head quickly, to check the door, just to be safe…yep, locked too. And the other door too. And the door in his old room, because he'd made sure after the last of the trick-or-treaters.

He was about to try one more time to lower the blinds when he remembered something….

The window upstairs.

Open.

Not by much, but still…and hadn't Jim himself used it once to get into the loft…oh, man, he shouldn't have brought up that memory. Not a good night to be thinking about Warren Chapel. Blair looked at the blinds -- then upstairs -- then back to the blinds. He reached backward, found the Butterfinger…and started to eat it even as he tried to make a decision: blinds or window?

He caught his reflection in the window pane…tousled hair, blue sweatshirt, sleeves rolled up because it was Jim's, matching blue sweat pants (his), and his favorite soft, warm argyles in blue and brown. Eating a Butterfinger. Perfectly normal. Just plain old him, alone. Nothing to worry about. He smiled and, moving quickly, pulled both blinds down. Hard.

He stepped back. "There. Done. Take that, you nasty zombies."

Still munching, he started for the stairs, wishing now that he hadn't turned off the tv - it would have given him a sense of normalcy. But hey, there was no problem, not really…just an open window. He'd even take his time.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

He finished the candy bar, tossed the wrapper behind him, vowing to pick it up before Jim got home, and then almost ran up the stairs to get that damn window down and locked.

At the top, he skidded to a stop. Wow, he thought, it _was_ just like in the movies. There was the open window, opened wider than he remembered, curtain rustling slightly in the mild October wind….

But that was perfectly normal, right? He'd just forgotten _how_ open the window was. Yeah, that was it. On the other hand, wasn't that what the first victim always thought? You know, in those slasher movies? And didn't he just look like a first victim? Damn straight he did. But he still needed to close the window. They always did. And when they did, they'd feel relieved…right up to the moment when they noticed something wrong …like…a wet hand print on the window ledge…or a foot print on the clean - and always white - carpet - blood showed up better on white carpets….

Blair took in the ledge…and sighed in relief. Clean. He relaxed slightly before allowing his gaze to drop to the floor.

Damn it, hardwood floors. Harder to see footprints….

Except…there was a footprint. A real one. A dirty one. Muddy.

Uhm…but only…one.

Blair frowned again.

One. Foot. Print.

What kind of burglar had only one foot? Really? You couldn't be a second story man - or in their case, a third story man, with only one leg…could you? Nah. And yet, there it was. He looked around the room, checking the floor. Nothing. It was clean. This was, after all, Jim's home. Their home. Of course the floor was clean, which was why that … foot print…stood out like a sore thumb -- or more accurately -- a single-legged zombie?

And now he really needed to walk over and close the window even if it was a bit like closing the barn door after the horse got out (or a zombie in). But there were always more horses - or in his case; more zombies, and he didn't think he was up to fending off more than one.

Of course, he could leave it open and hope the one-legged _thing_ decided to leave the same way he'd come in because Blair Sandburg was too big a threat to it…or not. No, the zombie wouldn't leave, it'd kill him. Oh, he'd put up a good fight, would go down fighting while specifically trying to protect his brain, but he had no doubt that one Official Police Consultant against even a one-legged zombie…would lose and yes, the zombie would kill him.

Hey, now that he thought about it…zombies were always losing body parts, so of course this zombie could be one-legged. And maybe - one-handed? That might even up the fight. He nodded. Definitely.

How did you kill a zombie again? He wracked his brain…wait, he'd read an article just the other day about the right way to kill them, which was hard, because, you know, they were already dead. But it _could_ be done. Oh, yes, it could be done.

All right…he remembered reading something from the Yahoo! Contributor Network, from a guy named…James. Yeah, James. And it was included the " _10 Top Ways_ _To Kill A Zombie" \-  _ and they all involved destroying the brain. Oh, sure. Of course. The brain. The only organ that could be considered a living organ on a dead zombie.

So what was number 10? Oh, yeah…thank goodness for his photographic memory:

  * _ Crow bar to the skull. The crow bar is a great weapon for use against zombies due to its versatility and strength. The odds of a crow bar bending or breaking on a zombie's head are slim to none, making it a great weapon to kill them with. I recommend using two hands to swing this weapon, but you can make due with one if the zombie is being especially ferocious and has to be held back while you clobber its head in  _



Okay, did they have a crow bar? Probably. And if this situation ran to its natural conclusion, said crow bar would be…downstairs. Under the sink, in Jim's tool box. He pondered the safeness of traveling down to the kitchen…and discarded it as being too dangerous. Instead, he went to number nine:

  * _Drop an Egyptian obelisk on them. This is somewhat difficult to do, but will yield great results and will also be a lot of fun. You set up a trap and get several zombies to follow you through a corridor where you have an obelisk set to fall if a wire is tripped. The zombies, being brain dead as they are, won't avoid the wire and will cause the 10-ton stone to fall on top of them. While this isn't a direct attack on their head, it almost guarantees that their brain will be destroyed. Plus, it's a great way to brag to your friends, "Hey Joel, I killed a zombie with an obelisk this weekend. What did YOU do?"_



Damn. In the old days, as in "BJ", he'd have actually been able to get a hold of an Egyptian obelisk. But now? Easily? Not so much. Besides, he was pretty sure he only had one zombie…one foot print=one zombie. So number eight:

  * _Light the zombie on fire. This is a sometimes underutilized zombie killing method. This is because a lot of people don't think that lighting a zombie on fire is enough to destroy the brain. That idea, however, is false. If you cover a zombie in gasoline and light it on fire, the heat will be enough to liquefy the brain and cause the zombie to die. The goal is to get a good amount of gasoline on the torso or head of the zombie so you can be sure a lot of the heat and reaction is focused there._



Blair, being somewhat of a genius, spotted a slight problem with number eight right off. Like, for instance, a zombie on fire was likely to ramble all over the loft, thus setting _it_ on fire and, while, in the end, Blair would be alive and the zombie dead, Jim would probably take little comfort in that considering Blair had burned down their home. Okay, fire was out - besides, the gasoline was in the basement - and there was no way in hell he was going down there! So number seven:

  * _Smash its head in a convection oven while it's on. This is a fun way to kill a zombie, although it's usually not the most effective. You can slam its head in a convection oven over and over again until it stops moving. Be careful, though, because some ovens might break before the zombie does, especially if you're hitting the neck instead of the skull. The inability to close will place a lot of stress on the oven door joints and may cause it to snap. If this happens, just use the door to bash the zombie. This is best used on partially disabled zombies._



Okay, there was a plus here - he had a zombie with only one leg, so that made him already partially disabled. But there was also a negative. No convection oven and he doubted Mrs. Woodburn on Two would let him borrow hers - which would require him to lure the zombie down to her apartment. And he really didn't relish continually slamming the door on the zombie's head. Ugh.

Sighing, he moved to number six:

  * _Run it over with a car. This is one of my favorite ways to kill zombies, but the key is to not go too fast. If you hit a zombie at over 40 mph, you run the chance of totaling your car or severely injuring yourself. Since zombies generally move slow, you'll want to hit one at 10-20 mph. This will ensure that the zombie goes under the car instead of over and will limit the damage done to the vehicle and yourself._



Okay, another problem. His car was in the shop and Jim had the truck. Not to mention the zombie was _here_ in the loft, and getting it outside so someone else could run it over would involve a chase…which could work, since, yeah, the zombie only had one leg. Blair would certainly win, would be able to get down to the street, flag down a car, explain the situation to the driver (who, by the way, was _here_ when Blair needed him and not in Tacoma - _and_ he was a hunk to boot, so _there_ , Jim Ellison!), and then he and his brave new - hunky - partner would run the zombie over, making sure they crushed the skull under all four tires!

But just in case that didn't work and there no hunks - or anyone else for that matter - willing to run down a zombie…there was always number five:

  * _.308 Winchester to the head. If you hit a zombie with this round, it'll split its skull in two. That's exactly what you're looking for. Remember, though, that rifles are most effective at long-to-medium distances, although I only recommend the latter if you're in a safe position. Zombie's make great target practice and you can play some fun games while killing them with guns. Just make sure that you don't run out of ammo. In a zombie apocalypse, guns are more useful in warding off human raiders than they are in killing zombies._



Blair was pretty sure he wasn't in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and he didn't know anyone with a .308 Winchester - except maybe the Winchester brothers? And of course, Jim had taken his gun with him, but then, would a regulation police revolver work as well as a rifle? Probably not and if it did, you'd have to be real close, and the only good thing about number six was that you had to be at a long-to-medium distance - and he was pretty sure the zombie was in the room with him.

Okay, number four:

  * _Chain saw. This is probably my favorite way to kill zombies, but I don't recommend it for rookies. The chain saw is a dangerous weapon that can have a serious kick back that could end up killing you. Not only that, but it's unwieldy and difficult to move, meaning that if the zombie manages to get past the blade, you'll end up dead. With that in mind, it is definitely the most glorious way to dispatch the dead. It creates a huge mess and will attract more zombies to come attack you so that the fun never ends. Just make sure you have a back up weapon or somewhere to retreat to if things go sour._



No. Just no. He'd seen the Chainsaw Massacre too many times and he wasn't about to make that kind of mess in Jim's home. Their home. And he hated the sound they made. He shivered at the thought. It was also too…intimate. Too close. And with his luck, he end up chopping off his arm or a leg…so number three.

Man, he was fast running out of ways to kill the damn thing.

  * _Starve the zombies out. A lot of people don't understand that zombies will continue rotting indefinitely. If you can survive a good 4-5 years into the apocalypse, then you'll live in an almost zombie-free world. Once the zombies infect more than 50% of the population, they'll have a hard time finding more people to kill and infect. Because of this, their numbers will stabilize for a couple of years and then begin to fall. A zombie only has a life span of 2-3 years, after which point they will be too corroded to be any threat._



Blair rolled his eyes again. Apocalypse? Please. Although…that would make a great new series… guaranteed to run four or five years….

Okay, number two. He sent up a prayer for number two.

  * _Trap the zombie in a pit of concrete. This actually won't kill the zombie, but it's a good game to play with your friends. You'll need a pit of concrete with a depth of about 6 or 7 feet. You'll then coax a zombie or two toward the pit and let it fall into it. It'll sink in and won't be able to get out. The concrete will harden around the zombie, effectively trapping it in place. You can then play all sorts of fun games, like zombie poker or zombie golf._



Okay, this list was just plain silly. Besides, the second method was more Jim's style, not his. He hated golf.

Which left him with the number one method of killing a zombie:

  * _Put the zombie through a wood chipper. This is one of the most brutal zombie kills that you can do and will be great fun. I recommend getting a friend to help you with this because you'll need to literally feed the zombie into the wood chipper. What you'll do is incapacitate it and then lift it up and put it through the wood chipper feet first. There's not much else to be said about this method other than that it's awesome._



Again, several problems. No wood chipper. No friend. And hello? You can't incapacitate a zombie. If you could, then you could just bash his head in with anything heavy and handy.

Now he was really mad. And why in the HELL would you put the zombie in **_FEET_** first - or in his case - **_FOOT_** first??? It would take like…for _ever_ …to finally get to the head and thus the brain. And in the meantime, since zombies didn't care about their body parts, which were always dropping off anyway, it could just…climb out and yeah, eat your brain!!!

Wait. He had a baseball bat. He could bludgeon it to death. Crush its brain. Yeah.

Without thinking about the still open window, Blair ran downstairs, made a slight detour to grab the 3 Musketeers bar, then to his old room, where, under his old futon, was the bat. He knelt down, started to lift the quilt…and froze.

He'd forgotten the first rule always ignored in slasher movies:

** NEVER LOOK UNDER THE BED  . **

A rule that could be just as easily applied to having a zombie in your home. He dropped the edge of the quilt as if it were on fire and scrambled back to his feet. But damn it, he _needed_ the bat.

Okay. He was brave. Courageous, even. He was fantastic with baseballs, so bound to be equally good with a bat. Blair got back down, edged himself toward the bed…then remembered that zombies smelled of rotting flesh… He sniffed the air. Nope, no rotting flesh. Although…maybe a rotting boloney sandwich. Jim should have caught that ages ago. Shame on him and his sentinel senses.

Back to the bat. Slowly he reached out…then stopped. A flashlight. He needed a flashlight. Zombies could be briefly blinded so he'd have time to grab the bat! He got up fast, ran into the kitchen, opened the " _we keep everything for an emergency in here_ " drawer and grabbed the flashlight. He knew it would be working. This was, after all, Jim's home. Their home. Everything worked, everything had working batteries.

He was about to start back up the stairs when he realized he was _in_ the kitchen, which meant…crow bar. Always good to have a back-up plan. He opened the cupboard under the sink, flipped open the lock of Jim's tool box and picked up the crow bar.

Okay, okay, it was **not** a crow bar, they didn't have one. It was a wrench. But it was a **big** wrench.

Armed now with the wrench, flashlight and his half-eaten 3 Musketeers bar, Blair headed back upstairs, flashlight at the ready, wrench held high and candy in mouth while probably looking like one of Simon's cigars. The good news was he didn't need the bat now, so no need to look under the bed, where, even if the zombie didn't get him, the serial killer would (serial killers always hid under the bed or in the closet - everyone knew that).

Blair let the glow of the flashlight illuminate every possible corner of the bedroom, turning shadows into…okay, that one was Jim's tie rack…and the really ugly, scary shadow…the one Blair was certain would turn out to be the elusive zombie…turned out to be the shadow from their floor lamp. He pivoted around, wrench held aloft, daring any brain-eating zombie to show itself - but the only thing to see was…yep, their bedroom. Neat, tidy, dust-free - and apparently zombie-free.

He slowly lowered his arm, then tucked the wrench under his other arm, freeing up his right hand, which allowed him to hold onto the candy bar before it could fall out of his mouth. He munched down and chewed thoughtfully. So…one foot print, one open window, and shadows on his terrace. What could he - should he - deduce from such clues? He might not have chosen to become a real detective, but he was still a damn fine consultant and pretty well paid too, if he did say so himself, which he did, and often. So he should be able to figure this out.

But first, he finished off the candy bar. His stomach grumbled, as if two candy bars and one bag of M&M's peanuts hadn't been enough. Maybe he should have another bag of M&M's? He'd need his strength if there _was_ a zombie - or serial killer - in the loft. He started back downstairs, fully aware that he'd failed to gather up enough courage to close the window. He should have, but all he kept seeing was him…reaching up to pull the window down just as two skinny zombie arms, flesh falling off in jagged pieces, grabbed him and hauled him out into the extra dark night, never to be seen or heard from again. Well, except, maybe Jim would find what was left of his body, him being a sentinel and all. But there'd be no brain. Which was a shame because he'd made sure that if anything ever happened to him (and lots of things were always happening to him), his brain would be donated to science. That sure wouldn't be happening if the zombie got a hold of him.

Downstairs, he picked up a bag of M&M's, looked around carefully to make sure nothing was about to jump out at him, and then tore it open. He stayed where he was…near the front door…and once again started tossing the colored candy into the air and catching them in his mouth. It would be a shame if a zombie really got him - and not just because of his brain or its value to science, but because he was a damn fine M&M's catcher. Damn fine.

*** _squeeeeak_ *  **

Blair spun around, facing the dark, shadowy kitchen. Damn. While he'd been eating M&M's, the zombie must have managed to sneak downstairs after him - and was now in the kitchen. This was not good. There were, you know, knives and things in there. Sharp, pointy things and a blender. And a microwave. A chill ran down (or up) his spine. Sure, sharp things, pointy things, blenders, microwaves, but where was a convection oven when you really needed one? Downstairs, on the second floor, that's where.

He took a gulp, a big one, of his own saliva, and slowly turned the flashlight beam toward the deadliest room in the loft; the kitchen. The candy bag fluttered to the floor as he once again held the wrench high over his head. He took one step forward. Then another.

What was that? Damn it, he'd missed it. Something…it was something. Dark, large, looming….

***squeeeeeak***

He whirled around, facing the windows this time. What the fuck? Were there _two_ freaking zombies? One coming in from the terrace, the other from upstairs and now the kitchen? Was he…surrounded?

And damn it…he was out of candy.

At that precise moment…his flashlight faltered, the light blinking on and off. "Oh, shit, not now," he muttered even as he shook it impatiently. "There is no way in hell the batteries are shutting down, not in Jim Ellison's home, where the batteries in everything are changed out every three months like clockwork." He shook it again, banged it against his palm - and it winked out altogether.

Okay, this was bad. Except…

It's not like it was totally dark down here in the first place. There was the light on by the couch - had always been on. Sure, it gave off only a low, warm, golden glow, because Jim liked it that way, now that he and Blair were together - in that 'together' kind of way. He'd actually used the word 'romantic'. Jim Ellison, voluntarily using that word. Will wonders never cease. But the 'romantic' light did nothing to the darkened corners in the kitchen. They were still there…taunting him. And the extra batteries were, of course, in the kitchen. The dark kitchen.

A sudden flapping sound jerked his body back toward the living room windows. A shade that had been down…was now…up. Blair squinted. Was one of the previously closed windows…now open? Oh, this really really _really_ wasn't good.

A sound from the kitchen had him whirling back to it and now…now he was certain a shadow had detached itself from the darkest corner and was moving toward him. A creaking stair caught his attention and his heart dropped to his stomach, which he was now certain was physically possible because it had just happened. There were three zombies. Three.

He was going to die…and on Halloween. Or maybe by now, it was November 1st? No, it couldn't be midnight yet….

A clap of thunder shook the loft even as a jagged slash of lightening briefly lit up the room. Unfortunately, not long enough for Blair to pinpoint the positions of anything, let alone three zombies.

Oh, swell. Now he was not only going to die on Halloween, but one that had become…yep, a dark and stormy night.

Well, fuck.

* ** _slide-scrape-slide-scrape_** *

Oh, now that really wasn't good. And it was coming from behind him.

* ** _scrape-slide-scrape-slide_** *

And that was coming from his left….

He was well and truly surrounded. He would have liked to have seen Jim one last time…he really would. He loved the dope, was crazy in love with him and now Jim wouldn't even have his brain to remember him by.

* ** _slide-slide-scrape-scrape_** *

ohshit.

***

Jim parked the truck in his spot, turned off the engine and rested his head back with a weary sigh. Not that he wasn't glad to be home, he was. And he was grateful his relationship with his father had progressed to the point where the older man felt comfortable calling Jim when there was a problem. But William Ellison was going to drive Jim crazy. He'd driven all the way to Tacoma in order to bring his father home, only to have his father tell him, upon his arrival, that he wanted to stay another two days and would have a limo pick him up for the return trip, which would allow him to have his broken leg up on the seat. Which made sense - he should have thought of it himself. His father could hardly ride home from Tacoma in Jim's truck; not with a broken leg.

And damn it, he'd missed Halloween with Blair. He loved Halloween now. Blair made it fun because the guy was just a big - well, short - kid at heart. He loved decorating the apartment to spook the kids, insisted on full-size candy bars for treats, and played the theme from the original Blob and "Monster Mash" over and over again - which didn't even get on Jim's nerves - anymore.

Feeling better just thinking about Blair got him motivated to leave the truck and head inside. He'd already noted the lack of lights, which saddened him slightly. He'd hoped to surprise Blair and enjoy the spooky loft, the left-over candy, and maybe a good game of 'sock-fight', followed by another game of a slightly more intimate nature.

Once upstairs, he unlocked the door and, forgetting to adjust his sight, walked into the dark loft. He took a step inside - and….

* ** _crunch_** *

"Oh, shit."

He took another step, and was greeted by another crunch underfoot. What the hell? "Sandburg?"

Jim finally adjusted his eyes, gazed downward…and saw red. He tried to blink but he was suddenly swimming in red as it flowed outward on the floor… Jim felt himself giving into the crimson tide, body swaying as his mind screamed, " **Blood**!" over and over again….

Somehow it was of vital importance for him to avoid losing himself in redness, zoning on the shades and folds of the color... Jim shut his eyes tightly, not even knowing how he'd managed to do it. He waited until, instead of seeing that sickly viscous fluid underfoot, he could envision the hardwood floor, furniture…and slowly opened his eyes…then opened them wider still.

Red…again, but now…

…yellow…

…red, yellow and… _green_? And…brown???

What the fuck?

He dampened his senses - all fucking five of them - blinked a few times - and then narrowed in on the colorful objects that were neither blood nor body parts. They were, in fact…

"M&M's?"

He took a deep breath. " **M. AND. FUCKING M's**???" Jim turned toward the couch to see his reclining partner, empty Halloween bowl clutched to his chest, mumble, "Huh, wha'?" before sitting up, the bowl clattering to the floor.

Jim stared at Blair, the man he'd thought for a few agonizing and brief moments, to be dead and realized he had…yep, a chocolate smudge on his cheek. Just then, Blair asked sleepily, "Jim, you home?"

Walking carefully over - and around - the scattered colorful round candies, he said tightly, "Me home; you dead man sort-of-awake."

"Huh, oh," Blair muttered as he ran a hand through his short curls. "Why am I a dead man now-awake?"

Jim arched an eyebrow and indicated the floor.

Blair followed his partner's gaze…and winced. Looking up helplessly, he said, "I swear, Jim, I swear I caught them all. Seriously." He scratched the back of his head in a puzzled manner, looked around the apartment and added, "I guess I was…kind of…you know…dreaming. I was eating-"

"Let me guess: M&M's?" Jim said snidely.

"Well, now that you mention it, yeah. But I was tossing them up and catching them, you see? Only then there was this sound…and a feeling…and I wasn't alone and it got all weird but the upshot is that my brain was about to be eaten by…you know…zombies," he finished rather lamely.

"Zombies, eh? Can you give me one good reason why a zombie would even _want_ your brain?"

"Er…I think it had something to do with…you and sentinel stuff and how lost you'd be without me…you know? And that with me, you'd be able to stop all zombies everywhere and the world would be forever safe-"

"Yadda yadda," Jim interrupted as he made a jabber motion with his fingers. "I'm going to take a shower and when I come out, I expect a home completely free of floor-candy. Got that?"

"Oh, sure, of course. Right on it." Blair watched as Jim turned toward the hall before adding sweetly, "What _is_ the Halloween equivalent of Scrooge, anyway?"

Jim's answer was to slam the bathroom door.

***

Jim sat between Blair's legs and let him towel dry his hair. It didn't take long, but it sure felt good. Of course, if he had his preference, he'd be drying Blair's hair, but hey, he had a clean home, he was clean, Halloween was over, and in spite of the empty bowl that now sat on the kitchen counter, Blair had saved him his favorite candy bars - had even remembered to freeze them, and he was enjoying one now as Blair gently rubbed his head. This was good. Very good. Why he'd waited three years to tell Sandburg he loved him - he'd never know. But he'd finally said the words and Blair had taken him, sentinel-obsessed habits and all.

"So," he said after swallowing the last bit of frozen Milky Way, "Zombies, eh?"

"What can I say? I should never have stayed up late a few nights ago to watch that stupid flick to begin with."

"I warned you."

"Yes, Jim," Blair said patiently. "You did indeed warn me. Good for you."

Jim grinned, pulled the towel from Blair's hand and, head tilted up and back, said, "How 'bout we forget about Halloween, zombies, messy floors, and just go upstairs and enjoy November 1st?"

Smiling himself, Blair nodded. "And gee, only twenty some-odd more days until we have to decide about Thanksgiving."

Standing and holding out a hand, Jim groaned. "You had to remind me, didn't you? The choice between your mother's tofu turkey or my Dad's turducken aren't even to be contemplated - for at least two more weeks."

Taking Jim's hand, Blair got up and, after turning off the table lamp, together, they walked to the stairs. As they started up, Blair said, "Actually, if we pull the _'but this is our first Thanksgiving, so let us have it_ ' gambit, we can avoid both Tofu Turkey and Turducken!"

Walking up, Jim grinned and said, "I knew I loved you for a reason."

Blair slapped Jim's butt. "Many reasons, Jim. Many many many reasons."

***

When the light in the bedroom flicked out…and time drifted by…and the sounds from the bed faded to be replaced by gentle snoring…a figure detached itself from the furthest corner of the dark loft. It limped slowly and quietly toward the terrace, slipped under the pulled shade, pushed the window open and, as it stepped out, the creature looked up at the bedroom and whispered, " _Next year_ …."

The End...  
or is it?  
Because anything can happen between now and Halloween 2013….


End file.
